Innocence
by ivybluesummers
Summary: Sorta' PWP, Uchihacest. Years and years before, Sasuke had his innocence.


**Note: **An attempt to materialize my imagination through incest. If you hate anything with regards to yaoi, scram. I'm not to burden myself with people who hate it. Reviews are welcome though. Btw, Naruto is not mine.

**Summary: **Sort'a PWP. Uchiha Incest. Years and years before, Sasuke had his innocence.

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**INNOCENCE

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**

It's one hell of bloody sweat.

Uchiha Sasuke's physicality has reached its limit and his older brother was only heating up. It was one of those days when the former one had to curse silently for being too young, for being too drip of a shinobi when all his fragile body could do was to swing weapons in the air and mimic Itachi's grand techniques – his older brother says it's basic though. He has adapted to the harsh conditions Itachi was giving him however – sparring was at best, but right now, right at the very field beside their house where sweat and muffled agony were anointing the village's morning anew, it wasn't going well for the younger one. "Did'ya have good night's sleep, Sasuke?" Itachi's sarcasm never fails, offering an arm for the younger one to reach. Sasuke dusted his clothes off then.

"I'm all right, niichan," he said smiling, sincere. This form of conversation has been a routine for the two since they started practicing with each other. Itachi wins, Sasuke yields; the younger Uchiha would highly regard his older brother for the nth time, and the lecture would go over and over. Not that Sasuke minded; it was, at best, the way to exert a pull of attention from his industrious brother, the finest means to be only with his older brother. The sentiment was psychological actually. "Go wash yourself. It's noontime already. Mother's gonna look for us then."

"Okay."

Hours after, the pavements strolled endlessly with vast-flowing drops of rain; the immature Sasuke thought it was prompted from a god – the angry death god perhaps looking for a soul to devour – which for Itachi a minute or so of amusement. Everytime melancholic cloudbursts go down Konoha, the younger Uchiha would clamber out his bed towards his older brother's.

And so there both of them were, demonstrative in their touches; the activity had been so recurrent it became the most innate. "Shh, father'll hear us," Itachi barely said, smiling as the younger one snuggle closer.

"It's warm, niichan." The phenomenon of unknowing, the abstraction by which convictions with ideologies are no more than an acknowledgment above suspicion – this was Uchiha Sasuke's transparency; his sense of blurred difference between brotherhood and intimacy has conditioned his genesis, his spirit and everything else. As the lights were out, down on his older brother's room, all that Sasuke could muster were thick sighs burning in his ears, emotionally contrary to what he has observed before in the fields. Candlelight's were members of audience, witnessing more than family ties; drops of rain have shrouded their little pleasure bout, and, indeed, it was more than everything else.

Itachi has to blame it to his younger brother. Innocence was a marvelous indication of purity but it had its own weaknesses. It was blind, pretentious, eager or apathetic, ascriptions that he found advantageous now that his body jazzed awake in heat. A draft of pleasurably distressing wind has passed by and the two shivered, the older one in eagerness and the younger from pure coldness. "It's... cold..." he finally let out, his hands roaming everywhere of Itachi's body, unaware of the sensation it was giving. "Sasuke," the almost grown up youngster finally sighed. The younger Uchiha tilted his head.

"Favor?"

"Eh?"

"Don't stop."

"Don't stop what?"

Akin to an escort, Itachi's hand clung onto Sasuke's dainty hands, guiding them into depths only both of them know – from his collarbones to his chest, from his belly to his thighs. "This." Confused, Sasuke obliged nonetheless. His hands journeyed through his older brother's body, velvety at the slightest friction – Itachi's chest was robust, he noticed, and continued traveling downwards. His blue nightshirt felt warm although and he didn't know where such heat came from. In his hands perhaps? Must be convection, he thought. "Is this enough, niichan?"

"No, Sasuke... here..."

Itachi cursed silently. It wasn't because of his brother's naïve absurdity but from the mounting zeal attempting to escape from his body. His pants had enlarged specifically between his groins, budding larger as Sasuke's hands have pitched inside; he sat up, stripping off his slack shirt slightly soaked in sweat. "Go ahead," he signaled. It wasn't foreign for the younger juvenile; such activity had been so recurrent it became the most innate. The young innocent Sasuke sure was smiling, the anticipation and hope of making his older brother happy a priority beyond anything else. The rhythm was effortless for him as he pursue with more force, clutching and sending Itachi in some paradigm shift. Finally taking out the pants, up and down his hands were going, delicate little fingers playing with some warm flesh he thought was another silly game to play.

Both were never aware but the commotion was cadenced, supple and profuse at the same time; Itachi's hands were guiding Sasuke's head now, and at the slightest turn of events it all seemed blissful for the both of them – Sasuke of innocence and Itachi of lust. "Sas...ke," Itachi had forcefully whispered as he arched his head, the planes of muscles visible in his back with the flames of candlelight. It was a carnival town for them now, trickled dews mingling with each other – perspiration, rain dews and sex – and Sasuke's mouth traveled more than it should, grabbing those two spheres of flesh as he pave more tempo, more beat it was sounding like music.

Sasuke felt something strange however.

His mouth was thick, glutinous fluid dribbling on his lips. "What's this, niichan?" he whispered, almost choking, a little afraid but chose to hide it. "It's the fruit of what we're doing," Itachi answered, gesturing Sasuke to come closer. As the younger did so, he cupped his hands between Sasuke's thighs, flinging the younger juvenile in some eccentric sensation. "Touch yourself."

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Years and years after though were his odium beyond comparison. Sasuke's hands traveled from his chest to his belly, from his hips to his regretfully eager sex. It was one of those moments where he crosses that thin line of love and hate, lust and innocence, resistance and yielding, but as he stroked himself away, such thoughts just vanish like a puff of air. In his room, he ravaged his solitude like it was his lover, the space a witness to his mad sentimentality.

In the end, Sasuke blames it to his brother. It was so recurrent it became the most innate.

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End file.
